


the book i read was in your eyes

by kritiquer



Series: in which they meet in a library [1]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Library, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kritiquer/pseuds/kritiquer
Summary: “Uh, hey,” he says finally, and the boy looks up.And Lucas is struck silent, his thoughts leaving as soon as they had arrived. Who had allowed a fallen god to prance in here and steal Lucas’ seat, and why wasn’t he informed? The boy’s facial structure made Lucas want to call an artist just so they could have the satisfaction of drawing him, figuring out what shades of blue and green were thrown together to match his eyes, and were there three drops of grey added or two? It’s unfair, really, Lucas decides, that he isn’t even allowed to be wholly angry at the boy for stealing his seat, just because he’s a smidge too pretty for his anger to stick.or, a library au
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Series: in which they meet in a library [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876414
Comments: 13
Kudos: 242





	1. Chapter 1

The library is Lucas’ safe haven. He’s lost count of how many hours he’s spent nestled in one of the few armchairs scattered in the back, far from the noisier tables up front. When he was younger he used to think the chairs were his little secret, since they were almost always empty. His mama would laugh softly and brush his hair back, calling them ‘Lulu’s little chairs.’ And perhaps they were, placed right behind the non-fiction books no one cares to read, with tables too small for students to use. 

It’s a rainy Tuesday afternoon when Lucas realizes that other people are ,  in fact , aware of the armchairs, or at least the one Lucas has dubbed his, a lone looking chair, tucked into the farthest corner of the room; it’s always been Lucas’ favorite, if only for its proximity to the window. The boy sitting in it has wayward brown hair and a striped scarf, the rest of his features hidden by a book. His coffee rests off to the side, and for a moment Lucas almost snaps at him for taking his chair  _ and  _ his side table. 

“Uh, hey,” he says finally, and the boy looks up. 

And Lucas is struck silent, his thoughts leaving as soon as they had arrived.  _ Who had allowed a fallen god to prance in here and steal Lucas’ seat, and why wasn’t he informed? _ The boy’s facial structure made Lucas want to call an artist just so they could have the satisfaction of drawing him, figuring out what shades of blue and green were thrown together to match his eyes, and were there three drops of grey added or two?  _ It’s unfair, really,  _ Lucas decides, _ that he isn’t even allowed to be wholly angry at the boy for stealing his seat, just because he’s a smidge too pretty for his anger to stick.  _ __

“Sorry,” the boy must read something in Lucas’ face, because he closes his book and makes a move to stand. “I work here and figured I’d sit here for my break.” 

Lucas almost says  _ impossible, there’s no way I haven’t noticed you,  _ but he does end up with his eyes fixed on whatever assignment it is he’s writing that day, so maybe the boy does actually work here. 

“But I’m assuming this is your seat?” he continues, getting up in one languid motion, grabbing his coffee and tucking the book under his arm. 

Lucas glimpses the cover of his book as he does so, a collection of poems by Virginia Woolf. 

“Is that any good?” he asks, setting his things down on the table and dropping his coat on the chair. 

“It’s lovely,” the boy responds, and maybe Lucas is delirious or tired or dreaming, because he barely catches the words as the boy leaves, taking a small sliver of Lucas’ heart with him. 

_ Like you.  _

-

The next time Lucas sees him, he’s lugging a large cart of books behind him, and Lucas almost moves to help him before realizing he probably shouldn’t. The library has a strict rule about who got to shelve books, and even though Lucas knew the library like the back of his hand, he wasn’t an employee. 

“Busy day?” he asks instead, and almost leaves out of embarrassment at his obvious question. 

But the boy smiles, magnetizing all the sunshine in the room to himself as well as all of Lucas’ attention (and possibly a couple of his brain cells too, because he’s still standing here making trite small talk as if actively wanting to embarrass himself further). 

“Covering a shift for a friend,” the boy shrugs, and Lucas blinks because _ oh, of course.  _

“Oh. That’s nice of you.” 

“I guess.” He shrugs. “What about you? You’d better hurry if you want your chair vacant.” 

Lucas feels his cheeks warm at the obvious jab as the boy teases, and if the boy wasn’t wearing a shirt that matched his eyes a bit _ too _ well, maybe he could come up with a clever retort. 

“I actually needed help finding something,” he says instead, and hopes that in another universe he had said something witty to make the boy laugh. 

_ But, perhaps, _ Lucas thinks, as the boy puts his books down to look at Lucas attentively,  _ a laugh would be too much to handle right now.  _

“Virginia Woolf,” he tells him, and ignores the way the boy’s eyes light up knowingly. 

“Ah,” he grins, and Lucas swears his heart skips a beat or at least does  _ something  _ to make him stumble over absolutely nothing as the boy moves his cart out of the way with a flourish, beckoning Lucas to follow him. 

He follows the boy through shelves of fiction and nonfiction alike, nearly tripping over the children scattered throughout the aisles. He watches as the boy walks past where the Virginia Woolf books should be, pretending to be oblivious. Lucas can’t let him know that he knows where nearly every book is; how else would he ever talk to him? 

“That’s so weird, I could’ve sworn they were right here,” he exclaims, walking past the aisle again. 

“Are you new here?” 

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “just started a week ago.” 

And, well. Lucas has no choice but to put him out of his misery, does he? He tilts his head towards the aisle, and the boy nods dejectedly. 

“You sure you don’t work here?” 

“I sure am,” Lucas pauses intentionally, waiting for the boy to tell him his name. 

“Eliott. I keep forgetting to grab my name tag when I sign in,” he smiles, knocking lightly on the shelf near Lucas’ head. 

“Nice to meet you, Eliott,” Lucas walks further into the aisle, “I’m Lucas.” 

-

The handwriting is loopy and sprawling, letters stuck together by a messy hand. Still, it tugs on Lucas’ heart strings as much as the neon of the post-it hurts his eyes, and he gently peels it off the page. 

_ So. Turns out I may have been shelving a lot of books wrong this entire time.Would you do me the honor of helping me reshelve (many books) tomorrow? I promise not to tell my supervisor :)  _

_ -Eliott  _

It’s endearing, and Lucas sends a quick picture over to Yann for his judgement. Lucas has never broken a single library rule, and he can’t help but be paranoid that the consequences will be catastrophic if he does. Which is ironic, really, since he has no hesitation breaking rules anywhere else. But it feels a bit like an homage to his mama, who spent hours reading stories out loud to him, curled up in his chair, days on end at his insistence. What if they don’t let him sit there anymore? 

_ You’re overreacting. they know you, they’re not going to kick you out. plus if you say no i’ll come kick you out myself.  _

Lucas grins at the message and sends back a quick thumbs up. His mama will understand. 

\- 

“How did you memorize the decimal system so fast?” 

“Practice,” Lucas shrugs, handing Eliott a book and taking two for himself. 

“ _ Practice _ ,” he repeats, shaking his head. “You’re so smart.” 

“I’m really not,” Lucas clears his throat, “anyone can do it.” 

“Yeah,” Eliott admits. “Doesn’t make you any less smart, though.” 

Lucas drops his books, using them as an excuse to duck his head. If he keeps saying that there won’t be a Lucas to help out at all; with every compliment Lucas melts further into the floor. 

Eliott uses the distraction to wheel the cart further away, coming to stand across from him. 

“So you know the books well, right?” 

Lucas nods, unsure of what Eliott’s getting at. 

“Would you happen to know if there’s one on how to ask out the cute boy who helps you reshelve all your books for free?” 

And that’s it, then. He’s officially become one with the floor, his heart a sprawling mess and scattered across the floor in a trail leading to Eliott. Who, unaware of Lucas’ turmoil, continues to stand there and smirk as if he’s on a runway and not in the middle of a library aisle. 

“No, but I can check. I should know by 6, you free then?” 

“Mhm,” Eliott hums. “And the sequel, ‘I’m too broke for a fancy restaurant but there’s a really good pasta place a couple blocks from here that I’m sure he’ll like’?” 

“Awfully presumptuous, aren’t you? What if he hates pasta?” 

“That’s impossible.” 

Lucas shrugs, “is it?” 

“Okay,” Eliott pretends to think, dramatically leaning forward and resting his chin on a fist. 

“But,” Lucas holds back a smile, “in the third book, ‘nevermind he does like pasta, as long as there’s tons of garlic bread,’ it all works out.” 

Eliott grins, grabbing Lucas’ hand and scribbling his number on the back of it. 

“At 6, then, Lucas,” he returns to the cart, “see you in the fourth book.” 

“See you,” Lucas echoes, a little dazed, stumbling over to the back 

And, in a parallel Lucas hadn’t expected, his chair is taken by a striped scarf, slithering off the chair. 

_ I saved it for you,  _ familiar handwriting reads,  _ hopefully I've asked you out by now.  _

Lucas laughs and pockets the note, claiming his chair. Outside, he hears a child laugh and shout, a mother’s voice laughing right after and promising to return tomorrow. Inside, Lucas opens his own book, letting his mind wander off to a starry-eyed boy and his awful striped scarf instead. 


	2. part two

By the time six o’ clock rolls around, the sky has softened to a messy blend of pinks and oranges, as if someone had picked up handfuls of colored powder and tossed it across the sky, carefree and shatteringly beautiful. 

Lucas had given up on reading his book hours ago, and it sits on the table next to him, giving his empty coffee cups company. Occasionally he’d catch a glimpse of a library cart, and he’d feel his pulse quicken, so he’d decided to scroll mindlessly through his phone as a way to keep himself occupied. 

*

They meet up after Eliott’s shift, walking side-by-side to the restaurant. Eliott points things out on the way, claiming he’s walked down this road enough to do it blindfolded, and Lucas promises that if the food he’s been raving about doesn’t live up to its name, he’ll make Eliott do just that. 

When they finally reach it, he realizes that the Italian restaurant is quaint, tucked in between a tiny florist shop and a cafe he used to work at. The inside of the restaurant radiates laughter and carries an air of warmth, and the hostess smiles knowingly at Eliott as she leads them to a table near the back. 

Their waiter drops off menus and the two of them sit in silence for a couple minutes; Lucas can feel the tension in the air--curling and awful--before Eliott smiles, and it skitters away as if intimidated. 

Suddenly Lucas’ nerves start to ebb away, and he can’t explain how, or why, but he knows that somehow everything he’s worked for in the past few minutes, hours, days, weeks, has led to this exact moment; led to him listening to Eliott rave about their pasta selection and point out that they _do_ have garlic bread, _you see,_ and not one but three types. 

Their food arrives fairly soon, and Lucas picks up his fork to start eating. He watches Eliott do the same, before he places the fork back down. 

“What are you--” Lucas pauses, watching Eliott hunt through the small tray of sugar packets that had arrived with his coffee. 

He continues the act with determination, and Lucas wants to reach over and rub his fingertip over the crease in his brow. One thing he’s learned in the past hour is that Eliott is just as dramatic as Lucas is, and even more so for certain things. He knows he’s watching him with a smile he can’t bring himself to hide, hopelessly appreciating the way the drooping sun places shadows onto his jaw and gives him the final drops of sunlight as highlights in his hair. 

“Aha!” Eliott gasps, waving a packet of sugar in the air. 

It breaks Lucas away from his blatant staring, and he looks down to hide his face as he feels it growing warm. But Eliott says his name with excitement, his eyes lit up; Lucas can’t believe he went so long without knowing Eliott, without knowing the sun liked him as much as Lucas did, painting him in soft shadows. It slips out of the sky now, and the restaurant lights suddenly seem dimmer, more serious. He vaguely registers that Eliott has been waving the sugar packet for a while now, or maybe it’s just been a few seconds, Lucas has been too fixated on the wave of Eliott’s hair to truly keep up with trivial things like time. 

“Sugar?” he says finally, and Eliott huffs indignantly. 

“ _Sugar,”_ Eliott mocks lightheartedly, and Lucas wonders idly if this is an Eliott thing, repeating what he says in an awful attempt of imitating Lucas. 

“It is actually,” Eliott opens the packet with a flourish, and Lucas watches in horror as he leans over his plate. “The best thing I’ve ever come up with.” 

“Please tell me you’re not adding sugar to your pasta, Eliott,” even as he says it, he sees Eliott wink (which is not _allowed_ and he needs at least a two day warning before Eliott does it again, because he barely has time to process it before Eliott is, indeed, scattering sugar over his innocent marinara). 

“Try it!” he exclaims, twisting his fork in the heap of atrocity on his plate. “It’s not even a full packet, Lucas.” 

“That doesn’t make it better!” 

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” Eliott sighs dramatically, and Lucas can’t help but laugh. 

“When you’re done with insulting all of Italy, let me know,” he says, and twirls his own fork around pasta that is blissfully sugar free. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliott chuckles, and Lucas shakes his head in disbelief, watching as he continues eating. 

“So, what did you think?” Eliott asks, in the midst of a comfortable silence and the gentle scraping of forks against a plate. They’d switched over from pasta to sharing a slice of cake a while ago, and Lucas had held up a salt shaker knowingly as Eliott speared off a piece. Eliott had laughed and mimicked shaking salt all over the chocolate, and Lucas laughed along with him, feeling happier than he had in ages. 

Not that he was sad before, not really, but he hadn’t had an Eliott that listened to Lucas’ stories with emotive eyes and a whisper of a smile, told extremely terrible jokes with all the confidence in the world, and insisted on splitting the last sliver of cake even though it was hardly enough for one of them. 

“What did I think about what?” he responds finally, and thinks that he should start responding to Eliott faster, if he can ever stop being distracted by his every action. 

“The fourth book,” he smirks, placing his fork down and resting his chin on a palm. 

“Hm,” Lucas pretends to think, to will his thoughts away from _amazing, so amazing and how is he supposed to disassociate pasta from eliott’s smile and shining eyes, much less look at marinara the same way again?_

“3.5,” he says eventually, and Eliott scoffs. 

“A 3.5?” he waves a waiter over, and hands over his credit card before Lucas can object. “I’m offended, Lallemant!” 

“It is what it is,” Lucas defends, but he knows there’s too much laughter in his voice for it to be convincing in the slightest. 

“Come on,” Eliott beckons, standing up as soon as the waiter returns with his card. 

Eliott’s walking away before Lucas can ask where they’re going, and he hurries to catch up with him. Outside, the air is crisp, and the wind tousles his hair and toys with Eliott’s scarf. The streetlights glow in the absence of the sun, and Lucas can hear laughter and chattering in the distance. He wonders how many other people are on a date at the same time as them, or maybe splitting a pizza between friends, watching cars whiz by in a blur of metal and headlights. The city is so incredibly alive even as the day dies down, and Lucas wants to bottle up this day and keep it close to him, never letting it slip from his memory. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Eliott says, and Lucas nods. 

They settle into a slow pace as they walk, and Lucas doesn’t want the night to end, not when he can walk the streets of Paris with Eliott next to him instead. 

“Would you ever consider working at the library with me?” 

“No,” Lucas grins, “I don’t think we’d get anything done.” 

“Maybe not,” Eliott shrugs, “but I’d get to see you everyday.” 

_You can see me everyday anyway,_ Lucas wants to say, _I have no incentive to leave the library ever, not with you working there._

“What if you hadn’t sat in my chair that day?” he asks instead. “Do you think we’d still have met?” 

“Of course,” Eliott smiles. “Even with you barely looking up from your books and me shelving them all day.” 

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah,” Eliott admits. “I had to work up my courage to ask you out, but I knew I would eventually. I don't think there's an Eliott anywhere that couldn’t do the same.” 

Lucas knows he’s referencing the parallel universe theory he’d told Eliott back at the restaurant, and wants to respond but his mind is stuck like a broken record, unable to move past it. _Eliott had to work up the courage to ask him out._ Just as Lucas had to work up the courage to talk to him in the first place, pretend he was interested in reading Virginia Woolf when he really just wanted to know Eliott’s name. 

They reached Lucas’ flatshare faster than he would have liked, even though he deliberately led them down the wrong roads and missed three right turns. 

“Here we are,” he says softly, and Eliott moves to stand in front of him. 

“Here we are,” Eliott repeats, and the words flutter in the air between them, fond and delicate. 

Lucas wants to reach over and grab one of Eliott’s hands on his own, tug him over into his space and make it so that he can’t leave, not ever. Instead he sends Eliott a sharp smile and leans against the wall behind him. Eliott mimics the action, eyes teasing as they dart all over Lucas’ face and then tilts his head back to look at the sky instead. 

“Do you see that, right there?” Eliott points at a mass of stars, and Lucas nods, not seeing anything at all except Eliott, but pretending all the same. 

“Here, give me your hand,” Eliott chuckles, sending a shiver down Lucas’ spine. 

Eliott gently guides his hand to a cluster of stars and gives them a name, and Lucas tries to pay attention but he can’t look at the stars when they’re reflected in Eliott’s eyes, and he thinks he’d rather look at Eliott over anything any day. 

“Do you know any?” Eliott asks, before letting Lucas’ drop his arm but leaving their hands clasped loosely, as if they’ve tucked away some of the stars between them. 

“What?” 

“Constellations, Lucas,” Eliott laughs, and tugs Lucas almost imperceptibly closer. 

“Yeah, have you heard of Cassiopeia?” 

Eliott scrunches his nose, but lets Lucas guide his hand over to where a group of stars form a twinkling crown. 

“Do you see it?” 

“No, but I believe you.” 

Lucas laughs, then, and Eliott grins back at him. 

“And right there, see,” Lucas points at absolutely nothing at all, hoping Eliott won’t notice. 

He’s grasping at any opportunity to get Eliott to stay beside him, warm and laughing. But maybe not laughing at _him,_ Lucas reasons, gasping in mock offense as Eliott shakes his head at him. 

“Are you making these up?” 

“Making constellations up? No, I think they’ve existed for a while now, Eliott.” 

“As long as books?” 

And with that Eliott clasps his other hand, rubbing a thumb over Lucas’ knuckles and Lucas doesn’t know when or how they moved closer but it’s as if his limbs are frozen, waiting for Eliott to do something, anything at all. 

“I have an idea for another book,” he whispers, now, as if it’s a secret. 

“What?” Lucas tilts his head back, and Eliott drops one of his hands to trace his thumb over his cheekbone. 

“‘What if he kissed him right now?’” 

Lucas moves this time, tugging Eliott closer and bridging the gap between them. Eliott’s lips are chapped from the wind, and Lucas’ fingers cold when he winds them through Eliott’s hair; but neither seems to mind, and when Eliott finally pulls back for air they don’t go far, still fixated in each other's' orbits, with foreheads touching and entwined hands. Lucas doesn’t know how long they stand there; two silhouettes reaching helplessly for the other.

“5 stars,” Lucas says finally, when Eliott has to go. 

“What?” 

“The fourth book? I give it 5 stars.” 

“I know.” 

“You _know?_ I take it back then.” 

Eliott laughs, and kisses his forehead before he turns to round the corner. 

“I know,” Eliott emphasizes, “because I feel the same way.” 

*

The night had ended with a comforting feeling rattling around in his chest, and a silly, hopeful smile refusing to leave his face. He figured if he smiled any more, Mika would tease him endlessly until it stuttered into embarrassed laughter. But he’d endure the teasing, he knew he would. Because Eliott had swept him off his feet and acquainted him with the stars and the shimmering gleam between them. That, and he’d slyly left with the promise of meeting in more books. Lucas thought he was testing his creativity of coming up with more titles, but as he entered the flatshare and Mika grinned at him knowingly, his phone chimed in his pocket; a quick glance proved it to be a goodnight text from Eliott himself, and Lucas figured he’d let him try. After all, he’d quickly developed an affinity for cheesy book titles, and the devastatingly perfect boy that procured them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, let me know what you think! and i'm kritiquer on tumblr, come say hi :)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i'm kritiquer on tumblr, come say hi :)


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